Logs:Ghost Stories
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| RL Date: 24 August, 2014 |
| Who: Farideh, Edyis |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh is stuck in the stores. Edyis joins. They fold laundry and talk about ghosts. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 8, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Clear. |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions |
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| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms. Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them.
There are on any given day, a plethora of reasons for a young scribe to be nosing about the store rooms, she must be a scribe given the ink stained apron. Light steps bear the dark haired woman through the isles, wax slate and stylus in hand tapping the stylus absently against the slate. That is until she catches the humming. Silently, Edyis peers about the corner, observing the laundress with mild curiosity. Her humming becomes strained, wobbly, her face pale and worried. "Hello?" Farideh asks in a high whisper, upon hearing the scribe's footsteps. She just about jumps out of her skin when Edyis rounds a corner, dropping the stack of sheets she is holding. "W-what are you doing!" she demands, her hands clutched to her chest. It's dark and the dimglows are hardly sufficient. What indeed Edyis remains quiet for a few moments after the question, "You are not a ghost then." It is succinct, not even accusatory. "I didn't see the glows, and I thought - well. I'm just glad you are an actual person." It's possible that the relief in her tone is purely manufactured, but her expression seems to match it. At least what can be seen. "I was afraid it might have been a ghost." A hysterical giggle bubbles out from Farideh, a hand pressing to her lips. "You shouldn't sneak around in the dark," she snaps, swallowing down all signs of misplaced hilarity. She bends down to scoop up the linens she dropped and sets them on the intended shelf. "I thought you might have been," she supplies with a wary glance to the scribe, "a ghost, too." Edyis gives a somber shake of her head in sympathetic understanding. "They say you can hear her weeping sometimes back here." Who she is, the dark eyed woman doesn't explain. Moving over to the basket in an attempt to shake some more light into those glows. "I didn't mean to frighten you." "Hear.. who?" Farideh squeaks, regaining some of her earlier wariness. "That's ridiculous, there's no one here but me and you." In contrast to her words, she's clutching a coverlet fiercely, her eyes wide as she watches Edyis move into the glow light. It could be she was holding her breath, but when she can fully see the scribe, she lets out a great exhale. "Yeah, don't sneak around like that. Why aren't you carrying around any glows?" "The spirit of the Weyrwoman who was murdered." Edyis soft soprano lowered to a whisper, the glows casting her features in eerie green light. "They normally have a basket or two hanging. I am not sure I have seen it this dark before." Edyis moves closer almost as though the dark unsettles her. "I don't think we've met before, I'm Edyis." "Her?" Wide hazel eyes meet Edyis's. She clutches the coverlet closer, like it might provide her protection from that erstwhile spector. "But wasn't she killed in her weyr? Why would she be haunting the stores?" Still, Farideh is looking around at all of the shadows surrounding them, backing up closer to the shelving unit. "I should have brought two," she murmurs, glancing severely towards the scribe. "I'm Farideh." Dark eyes meet hazel, as the scribe nods solemnly. "I've heard that her spirit has been seen all over the Weyr. A weyrling was telling me that they saw someone walking around on the sands, who matched her description, and when he called out? She just dissapeared. A kitchen staffer was telling me that she heard weeping and footsteps here just the other night, but when she went to look? There was no one in here." Edyis continues shaking the glows, sending strange shadows against the shelves, in the eerie green glow. "No one talks about it around the Weyrleaders, but there are so many stories." The scribe shivers. A mixture of doubt and fear flicker in the laundress's eyes. "That can't be real. Ghosts aren't real. They're just 'stories'." Farideh shrinks back against the shelves. Her hands are twisting the quilt now, back and forth, like the to-and-fro motion of her gaze. "They don't tell the Weyrleaders because they would 'laugh', it's so, so laughable. Ha ha." She glowers at the scribe across the space, snapping back into her usual, defensive nature. "You're lying. You're just trying to scare me." There's a tilt of the scribe's head as she studies the laundress, "More like it's a sensitive topic, especially for them. It seems she has gotten as much light from the basket as is possible and sets it down. "If I was trying to scare you, I'd close the glow basket and leave you in the dark alone to fend for yourself." The scribe points out more gently, "And If I was someone that mean spirited, I wouldn't offer to help you finish up so we can both get out of this creepy place." Which must mean she is offering to help speed the process up. "If you 'weren't' trying to scare someone, you wouldn't sneak around in the dark." Farideh is adamant, but if the scribe wants to help, so be it. She does nothing to stop her; she keeps loading the shelves, making a small dent in her laundry basket. "Besides," as she sets a sheet set on an upper shelf, on her tippy toes, "what are you doing here? It's not like it's enough light for you to write anything." Over her shoulder, she gives Edyis a scathing, suspicious look. "Was afraid you were a ghost." is muttered darkly, almost under her breath, her nose wrinkling. Moving to help load the basket onto the shelves setting the wax tablet aside. "Ink making supplies. I was hoping someone had gathered some of these little green berries that grow in oak trees. Makes a beautiful emerald ink. Sometimes they get shipped with tithes, others - you have to find a rider willing to take you where they grow." A small stack of towels fetched from the basket and moved to the appropriate shelves. Tippy toes again - stretching up high to set a stack of blankets. "Don't the harpers keep some of that in the archives? Why would they store it here, where anyone can access it?" Farideh speaks in such a disinterested tone, it's a wonder she's speaking at all, but she does manage a cursory scan of Edyis before bending down to stow away long cloths. "Sounds stupid to me." "Doesn't have to be interesting to you, your job is the laundry." She laughs, fetching what one might assume to be socks from the basket. "Have you ever been in the records room? They keep a small amount of supplies, but there isn't enough room to store everything and the records." She glances over as the socks find their shelf. "So what brought you to reaches anyhow? Couldn't have been the weather." A laundress -- "Yes, it would be better if people would stop reminding me of that." Farideh sighs and settles her hands on her hips, surveying their handiwork thus far. "I try not to go places where I might be put to work. I've no interest in sorting books or whatever it is you do," she says flinging her hand out, before placing it back at her waist. "No one can take this weather seriously. I have some family, so I thought, I might as well make a new home for myself. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?" Her remark earns a lift of the scribe's brow, and something that might be taken as admiration in her tone "So you chose laundry because it was less work than anything else? I mean you could choose almost anything you wanted for lower caverns work." Genuine curiosity floods her expression, appraising Farideh as if through a new lense of perception. "Of course there's nothing wrong with that, it can be a very good place to call home." She smiles, bending over the basket again and finding another small set of towels. It could be that Farideh has lost interest or simply feels like pawning off her work on Edyis, but for now she stands off to the side, arms akimbo. "I chose laundry because I know how to do it. Washing, drying, pressing, folding - that's all easy stuff. I can't cook, I can't garden, I'd never go around runners, and archives are boring." And that's just the short list. She has mostly forgotten their situation of being surrounded by shadows, except for the occasional glance to her left. "There are worse places I could be." Shelving the towels, Edyis herself mostly listens, though there's a smirk for the list. "There are definitely worse places to be than reaches, full of worse people." Turning her back to lean against the shelves, "So what do you do like to do for fun?" Her gaze shifting back to Farideh. "Since work certainly doesn't seem to qualify." "For fun?" Farideh asks, not without some sarcasm. "Oh, I don't know," she says, moving her head back and forth in that sassy way teenagers do, "since there's not really 'anything' fun to do here, I just make my own fun. Sometimes I like to drop soapsand in the clean water basin to see Chala freak out over all the bubbles. Sometimes I make up games with the little ones. They like picking pockets, and they're pretty good at it too." This isn't turning out to be too 'fun' of a list, but she looks cheerful enough to entertain the scribe with her stories, "Sometimes I go to the Snowasis to watch the games." A spark of amusement in her eyes, Edyis seems to enjoy the stories. "Is there a secret trick to it? Pickpocketing, I mean. I've never tried but it sounds like it could be a challenging pastime. Especially if you don't want to be caught in it." Then her expression melts into one of shock and disbelief. "Watch? You mean you don't play darts or poker?" "'I' don't pickpocket. I merely supervise." Farideh might be lying, but her face is stoic enough that it's hard to tell. "No, they don't actually teach la-- let's just say before I came here, my life was very dull and very boring." She moves to collect her basket, which is empty now. "We should leave, before any ghosts come to play." "Expect that to change drastically." Edyis offers. "That sounds like good reasoning. I'll be happy to teach you at least darts if you teach me what you learned supervising. Snatching the glows and eager to follow the woman out to where the lights scare away any specters. "If you're game." "We can discuss it," Farideh gives, the ghost of a smile curving her mouth. Her basket bumps against her knees as she walks, and while they may talk more about the proposed information exchange, the laundress makes no guarantees. |
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